


Here with me

by MostFacinorous



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, finger trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiago is an agent under M. Q is a hacker who works for the Chinese, Tiago’s enemy but also a sparring partner that he has come to respect. Then shit goes down, and the Chinese surrender Q to him as part of an exchange. Tiago is ordered to dispose of Q, because of the threat he poses and the slippery nature of forcible employment.  Tiago has other ideas about what he should do, and, being Tiago, acts on them. </p><p>He won't kill Q, but he can't let him go. Not yet at least. And so here they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [migraine_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/migraine_Sky/gifts).



> This is a gift to the beautiful and talented Migraine_sky, in exchange for her help with assets for another of my stories, Clever Boys.  
> She really does make the best Silva. Check out her amazing cosplay at http://migrainesky.deviantart.com/

Some people like to unwind at the gym.

He spent his days proving over and over again that he was at the top of his form, in peak condition, often at gun point, sometimes in a decidedly fatal way for those on the opposing side.

He really had no interest in treadmills and weights.

Some people open a bottle of beer and flip on the telly.

Frankly, if he did, he would be bored in a matter of minutes. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good story, just that they tended to be found lacking. And besides, stationed as he was in Hong Kong, half of the stories he had access to, he couldn’t really relate to, culturally. And the other half were neither as exciting as his life, nor interesting enough to warrant his attention.

Tiago, on the other hand, after a day of running amok, shooting people, stealing secrets, guarding secrets, and then filling out the paperwork associated with all of the day saving he did, liked to unwind by coming home, powering up his six screen work station, and engaging in a game of digital capture the flag with his new favorite anonymous hacker.

The fact the he—or she—had managed to stay anonymous was impressive on its own. All it would take was a single slip, and he would have known everything there was to know about this person. But there were always layers upon layers of proxies, cookies were blocked, denied, or warped. And the one time he had convinced them to come play with him in UNIX, his fingering of them had brought about a bug that had crashed his screens and set each of the ones affected to playing a looped animation of a laughing, overly smug rabbit.

Research took him to Zitner’s candy, where the overly smug rabbit was the logo for their chocolate Easter eggs. Run out of Pennsylvania, he worked under the assumption, based on that, that his opponent was an American.

Which was fine. He liked to imagine meeting him or her, and unlike some of his coworkers, he had nothing against the accents of the colonies.

Today, Q (which was the only handle, or partial handle, that the hacker allowed themselves to be identified by) had erected a bright, shiny new firewall, behind which he knew he would find some minorly interesting bit of information on Q’s employers. Likewise, he had a carefully coded safebox with information on MI6. Nothing actually _useful_ , of course… that wasn’t what this was about. His information was a photo of M’s pet schnauzer, Miffy, and a sound clip of chamber music recorded inside of an elevator at MI6 headquarters in London.

Just interesting enough, just relevant enough, to be worth playing for. But nothing that would endanger their lives, their jobs, or their identities. It was digital sparring practice, and he could not, honestly, tell who would win. That was the great joy of this arrangement.

Last time, it had been him, and he had ‘won’ a recipe that the CEO of one of the Chinese’s top firearm exporters swore by for a duck dish. And of course, with his perverse sense of humor, he’d had a small dinner party and fed it to M.

He logged on to their IRC channel, and dropped a simple link to a website, connected to the same server which hosted the files, provided this ‘Q’ could find them.

It was how they announced the start of their games, and he didn’t have long to wait.

The cursor blinked for a few heartbeats, and then another link appeared below his own. He grinned predatorily, and off they went.

Some games ended quickly, and the winner was generally polite enough to at least point the loser to the loose points in the security, though neither seemed fond of outright naming the problem. It was all about working for it, this relationship of theirs.

It had started when, while on a man hunt, the rogue Chinese operative had announced his possession of far more explosives than anyone really wanted him to have. An act of desperation seemed imminent. And though neither of their departments would have approved of it, Q had reached out to Tiago. And they had worked together to locate and neutralize the threat. Tiago had gracefully given the Chinese the credit for taking care of their own man, and that had been the start of a beautiful… competition.

He went through the usual motions, first checking Q’s personal security while his machine ran various analyses on the coding. He checked for slip ups, proxies that hadn’t been activated, cookies that hadn’t been rejected or disabled or hidden. But Q was like a ghost. As he should be.

Half an hour into it, in the midst of his decryption software running, and him pouring another glass of sangria, he heard a bing from the IRC window, and he grimaced, well aware of what that meant.

They did not speak outside of the challenge, but even those few short sentences were dripping in personality. He fancied he could identify Q if he were to bump into them on the street, based on things like,

“Miffy? Truly? Time: 00:27:35.”

On a whim, he decided to push the bounds of their never discussed, mutually adhered to rules.

“That was quick. Do not worry—stamina comes with age.”

He liked to imagine that Q had started working for them fresh out of Uni, perhaps. And it had been a few years, working their way up to being allowed to actually represent them. He figured it likely that Q was maybe five years his junior, and that would put them at around thirty.  Not a bad progression, if he was right.

“And so I must be speaking to a dinosaur then.” Came the quick reply. There was the symbol for more typing coming, and he watched it hover until suddenly Q disconnected.

He grinned.

He lost that grin when, less than a month later, Q decided to use all of the techniques that had worked against him in the past to create and launch a virus within the walls of MI6’s intranet.

He was, maybe secretly a tiny bit amused at the thought of being partially responsible for what was shaping up to be the next war, but when it turned out that their mole had discovered that the Chinese had never given the order for this to be done, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

And when Q missed their regular challenge appointment, the bad feeling was cemented.

They had Q. They knew. They would be interrogating them soon, and they would probably give away his involvement. And then… then he would be done for, as an agent. The investigation would uncover the funds that he’d appropriated from each cell he shut down, would eventually link him to the election he’d helped rig down in Africa.

He considered cutting and running, but it would be such a shame to give up the cushy pension from England, and all the perks of higher access.

Instead, he went to Mummy.  Or, more correctly, he went on a bit of a binge, and did his own hacking. With Q doubtless detained, he got into the Chinese systems easier than even he had anticipated. Then he rounded up no less than five of their top operatives over the course of three days.

Everyone, by now, knew something was afoot. England was searching for some new player, China was pointing fingers, and everything became a high wire act for a moment, until Silva called in.

“Hello, Mum. Happy Mother’s Day!” he greeted her, his accent thick with amusement.

“It isn’t, and you had better have had a good reason for calling other than to waste my time.” She returned shortly. He tsked at her for her abruptness, well aware that that was how she showed affection. Still, it was fun to play.

“Is it not? Perhaps your birthday then? Christmas? No?” He pursed his lips, partially to keep from laughing as he imagined her fuming into her handset.

“Get on with it, Tiago, or I will hang up on you.” He had piqued her curiosity then. Good.

“I have a gift for you. I have all of the missing Chinese operatives.” Echoing silence followed that announcement, and he let his grin crack wide as it stretched on.

“Tiago, _what have you done_?” The horror in her voice made him positively gleeful, in the same manner as a child showing off their first rebellious piercing. He gave her a moment to compose herself; that was all it took. “If you think for even a moment that I won’t—“

“I need you to arrange for me an exchange.” He interrupted her calmly, studying his fingers and looking for any grime he may have accumulated in the scuffles over the last couple of days.

“An exchange? Who is it, and why didn’t you come to me first?” She was still sharp but more resigned already. Good.

“I don’t know their name. A talented hacker. The one who shut down part of the MI6 intranet, actually. The Chinese have him. Or her. I want them.”

“Absolutely not. We can’t risk bringing in someone like that—they could betray us in an instant.” Tiago frowned. She had a point.

“You misunderstand me,” he hedged. “I want them away from the Chinese. They’re good—even if we can’t use them, we can’t let them use them either.”

“And how will we identify this person in our demands?” M snapped. “How will you know it is them, if they are handed over?”

“They work under the handle of Q. And… we have had limited dealings. I will be able to ask a question and know whether or not they have lied to us, depending on the answer.”

“I’m not sending anyone with you. This is your folly—if you die for it, it’s on your own conscience. I won’t have this, do you understand me? You can’t pretend that we live in the Wild West, there is a chain of command, there are laws, and you are not above them.”

“Mistakes have been made. But I am going to remove the threat, and return things to their proper order. You just make the deal and tell me when and where.” He could practically hear her prickling at being ordered around. He had to speak fast, remind her why she kept him on her side.

“Mum?” He ventured. “Remember that I am your favorite son for a reason. If I say this Q is smart enough to be a threat, understand what that truly means. Truly.” Silence on the other end, her lips probably pursed while she exchanged meaningful looks with whomever was around.

“I’ll have someone call you back. But you understand that after this little stunt, you will be suspended pending trial, once you’re home. Do the job, Tiago. Don’t fuck this up any more than you already have. I want this Q person disposed of.”

She hung up before he could toss back a rejoinder, and he sniffed audibly, the only way he could safely express his disdain for the orders he was given.

He was not overly fond of being ordered to destroy his playmates. But that was a worry for later; now he needed to make arrangements for the transportation of his guests.

He needed to be absolutely sure they were ready for transport, and make sure that, while secure, he treated them with dignity. They were, after all, his peers. His lesser skilled peers, but just the same.

-*-

The tradeoff came at three that morning, near the docks. He’d secured each of the Chinese operatives in an empty shipping container, each with tiny wires on the outside, invisible to the naked eye unless you looked very closely, and knew what you were looking for, and impossible to disable from the inside. He’d know if his pawns were moved before he was ready.

He just hoped that no one would be so foolish as to try.

He stood alone, dressed sharply and armed with his favorite handgun from his private arsenal. He didn’t need much more than that, really.

The SUV pulled up, their headlights bouncing off of the fog and sending small animals’ dark forms skittering into the night.

He let them see his face, unafraid. He was giving up his post with these actions, and he knew it. He also knew that no matter what, M would see to it that he remained under her command. She, at least, could see that his skills would be needed. He was the future, after all.

The man who had ridden in the front passenger seat walked forward, his hands empty and held before him, which was meaningless, considering the unknown quantities inside the darkened vehicle. Still, the thought was nice.

“You say you have our men. We bring you the hacker you ask for. But where are your end of the bargain?” Tiago smiled.

“I have here streaming footage of them, if you would like to see. I have them all here, and will give you the locations once I have Q in my possession.”

He pulled out a small screen, slowly, from this pocket, turned it on, and offered it over.

“How do I know this is live, and you are not lying?”

“Would my government risk a war over what could be a simple exchange? Your Q has made my superiors very uncomfortable. And yours as well, I would wager. So, a fair trade.”

The man stood and thought, his hand going up to straighten his tie, probably a nervous habit, though Tiago wondered if perhaps it was a sign to someone watching.

He handed the screen back.

“Very well.” He turned and gestured at the SUV and the two passenger doors opened, one man hurrying around the back of the car to aid another in pulling out a struggling form.

The fog was dense, and all he could see was backlit outlines, until they came closer and threw the man they claimed was Q to the ground at Tiago’s feet.

If he were less trained, he would have jumped in horror. The man was thin, perhaps sickly so, and dirty—dried blood flaked on his face from a recent wound to his left brow.  But what was probably most concerning was the combination of youth and hatred on his face.

“Q?” Tiago asked, wishing he had better formality to fall back on, here.

The man simply stared.

“I would like to take you away from here, but you have to tell me, what sort of meat does CEO Chang like in his favorite meal?”

The men guarding the transaction looked at one another, confused, and Q just glared in silence. Tiago looked up to the mouthpiece, and the man shrugged and landed a brutal kick to Q’s lower back. He gritted his teeth.

“Duck.” He ground out.

“And M’s dog’s name?”

“Miffy.” That came easier. Tiago nodded at the men, satisfied.

He passed them a small moleskeine with the locations of their agents, then lifted Q by one of his arms, leaving his wrists tied and bagged where they were before him.

“Where are we—“ Q started, but Tiago shook him.

“Hush, I expect you know better.”

Q cast an appraising look over Tiago that was not missed as he dragged him down the length of the pier, then down the steps to where Tiago had parked the passenger van that he’d used to transport the agents in.

He did not immediately usher Q inside, though, taking the time to pull equipment from the back and sweep him for bugs and tracers.

Only once he was sure the man was clean did he put him into the vehicle. He sent a quick message to Mum that simply read ‘Not a single hitch.’ Then he put the transmitter under the tire of the car, got in, and pulled out.

They drove only for a few minutes before getting out and switching into a smaller car. Something less hard to park, less obvious, and much easier on fuel.

Never let it be said that Tiago was not occasionally practical.

“Is it just because you couldn’t stand not being in something sporty?” Q muttered, the question dripping in amused disdain. Tiago opted not to acknowledge that.

After a minute of silence, Q let out a huff of air.

“So, what’s the plan? I go back to England and get brainwashed and trained to work for MI5 or whatever?” He was keeping his voice light, but it was also tight, and he sounded stressed.

As well he should be.

“They decided you were too dangerous. I have orders to neutralize the danger.” He turned to see Q staring at him blankly, and he wondered if it was shock, or if he didn’t understand.

“They want you to kill me.” He sounded subdued.

“Those are my orders, yes.” He felt like letting him stew on that for a bit, maybe see what kind of begging and bargaining Q would be willing to do for his life.

“Oh.” Q leaned his head back on his seat and looked out the window.

“‘Oh’? Is that all?” Tiago pressed.

“Orders are orders. I understand.” His voice hitched at the end there. “No hard feelings.” He sounded ready to cry, and maybe a little relieved.

“Why were you working for the Chinese? You are obviously English.” He kept his eyes trained forward as he drove, only watching in his peripheral for signs of sudden movement. But Q seemed to have decided that there was no use in resisting.

“I guess it can’t hurt to tell you now, eh? My mother and I were captured on holiday, political prisoners. But then they started looking into me, realized that with my scores, they could make use of me. So they never made a ransom, they just held her life over my head, so I would work for them…” He said it calmly, like someone who had long ago come to terms with their life.

“What will come of her, with you gone?” Tiago asked, already trying to think of how he could extract her as well.

“She died two months ago. That’s why I launched the attack on MI6—I was trying to get an SOS into the system.” He laughed dryly, without any humor behind it. “Fat lot of good that’s done me. But. At least I don’t have to worry about being tortured any more…unless.” He looked sharply at Tiago. “You… will make it quick, won’t you?” His voice sounded watery again, and Tiago cursed the fact that he had made the amendments to his orders without thinking it through.

He didn’t answer, instead pulling into the garage of his secondary apartment, the one not paid for by Mum.

The one that he kept carefully free of any equipment that might betray his location or his habits. Q would find no computers here to attempt to call for help with, no phones, no contact with the outside world, and, once the doors were closed and the shutters secured, there was no reception for anything.

Sometimes Tiago liked to fall off of radar, and he had spent a good deal of time subtly convincing his coworkers that he had some sort of island getaway, but really he liked to be in the middle of it all. His escape was in the middle of a thriving metropolis, and that was the best cover.

No one passing by the place would ever guess the amount of modifications he’d had done, the levels of sound proofing and impenetrability he’d slowly built up over time.

MI6 could lay siege against this flat, and he could sleep through it. Which was just the way he liked it.

He climbed out of the car first, then pulled Q out of his passenger door, well aware that the man couldn’t get out with his hands in their condition. Another benefit of a very low riding vehicle with bucket seats.

He can lift Q by the knot between his wrists, and he remembers again how frail his frame appeared when kneeling at his feet.   

He got him up the short staircase and into the house, taking him not to some dungeon for death, but instead to his bathroom.

He sat Q heavily on the closed lid of his toilet, and saw Q stiffen when he pulled out his straight razor.

He didn’t say anything comforting as he advanced on him, and much to his surprise, Q just sighed, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

Submitting, granting him easy access to his throat.

Ready to die.

Welcoming it.

There was something altogether too appealing about that. Tiago was used to people who fought for their lives, begged for them, bargained for them, made promises that they could not hope to keep. Anything. He’d never been so freely offered a life before.

He was a killer. He had no illusions about that. But there was something more interesting about keeping Q alive.

He reached down and sliced apart the plastic ties between Q’s wrists, removing the canvas bags that were over his hands as well. He’d assumed it was to prevent scratching or nimble fingers too prone to picking pockets. He should have been more gentle.

Q opened his eyes in surprise, and nearly jumped as they fought to refocus on how close Tiago’s face was. But Tiago was busy looking at the ruins that had been Q’s fingers until recently. They had done terrible things to those digits, which showed signs of once having been graceful. But then, how better to punish one who had wronged you by typing out code?

“When did they do this?” He asked, dreading an answer that would spell permanent ruin for Q’s hands.

“Tonight, in the back seat of the  car. It was how they amused themselves while waiting for you.” Q’s voice didn’t have any anger in it. Just resignation.

Tiago backed away and moved to his sink, slipping the razor into the cabinet and wetting a washcloth with warm water before returning to Q, composing an expressionless face.

He began carefully wiping at the blood that spilled over his face, and Q’s hands came up, slowly, to grip his wrists and pull his hands away, so that he could better make eye contact.

“Why are you cleaning me up if you just plan to kill me?” He asked, and it was the most plaintive thing Tiago thought he had ever heard. “Why draw it out? Please—“ He choked on the word.

“I am known for my tendency to not follow orders, Q.” Tiago gave him a smile, and Q made a sound that was somewhere between an incredulous laugh and the gargling of a punctured lung.

“What will you do to me, then?” Q asked, and his voice was a mere whisper of what it had been, his eyes no longer meeting Tiago’s. He was afraid, now. He didn’t fear death, but he feared the idea of a prolonged life—which could only speak to the life he’d known.

“Hold still, and let me finish.” Tiago said instead of answering. He changed topics.

“What is your name?”

Q pursed his lips and folded his hands in his lap, contained if not exactly still.

“What’s yours?” Q returned.

“Rodriguez. Tiago Rodriguez.” He answered immediately and honestly, trying to help build their trust fr one another.

“Interesting name… Tiago. I don’t think I have heard it before.”

“Not so uncommon, where I am from. It is a variation on the name ‘James’.” He shrugged, and Q nodded.

“Ah.”

“I still have yet to have anything to call you.”

“You can call me Q. It’s… all I’ve been for so long. The other name doesn’t feel like it fits any more.” He looked down at his ruined hands, and silent tears slid down his face, tracking trails of slightly cleaner skin through the grime. Tiago wiped them away without comment.

It took several rinses of the washcloth before Tiago could see the face beneath the grime, but once he could, he took in a deep breath of air.

Q was young, younger maybe than he thought. If he was much more than a child, it had not been for long, though his few years weigh heavily on him, in the angle of his mouth and the shifting of his eyes, the way he holds his shoulders and the way his muscles tense against his will.

He didn’t ask the man’s age—he was a man. That much was clear—no boy would have this much courage. No boy could hold his respect as well as Q did.

“You are very thin, Q. Did they not feed you?” He asked instead.

“Often not for days. An it’s been… a while. Since the last time, I mean—I don’t… I don’t know how long exactly. Days. Maybe a week,” Q’s voice cracked at the implication that that may no longer be his fate.

“Can you stand, do you think?” Tiago asked again, and Q nodded.

“I’m a little beat up, but mostly intact.” The ‘mostly’ was sly, and he saw Q’s eyes dart down to his hands.

“I want you to wash. Then you will eat. And then I will set your fingers. I am not a doctor, but I have done that enough times, at least, that you should have good use of them, I think. Nothing appears splintered, just dislocated.”

Q gasped.

“They—you think? Could… would you… can you fix them first?”

“I would not count on you maintaining consciousness through the process. So you get clean and eat first. Then I’ll see to your hands.”

Q stared at him, eyes huge and watery in his now clean face, and for the first time there was something else there as well. Something nearly, not quite but possibly akin to, hope.

“I… have trouble. With my hands…” He held them up again, as though he felt Tiago needed to be reminded of the state of them. He just smiled.

“Of course. Let me start some cooking while the tub fills.”

He turned the taps on, moving carefully around the protrusions of Q’s knees, so thin and malnourished that he was surprised they hadn’t fractured when Q was thrown to the ground on the docks.

He made the water hot—probably painfully so, but who knew what untreated sores would be found under the oversized sweater and over belted slacks. If he really was to spare Q’s life, he would have to do his best to make it worth sparing.

That done, he navigated his way out into the kitchen, and turned on his security systems on the way, just to be sure.

Doors would not open from either side, without the proper passwords. He didn’t want to risk losing Q to himself or anyone else. Not while he was in so obviously emotionally and physically fragile a state.

He began dissolving some bullion in water and turned his oven to its lowest setting to begin bread warming. He wasn’t sure just now how rich of food Q might be capable of digesting.

He returned to find the man struggling to remove his sweater, his lip bitten to help hold back the small sounds of pain that he made.

“The adrenaline is wearing down now. I will give you something to help for the pain once I have you in the bath, yes?”

Q made a small noise of unease, but didn’t say anything, too busy freezing in his actions. Tiago studied the way he clamped his eyelids tightly shut and how, even in trying not to exacerbate the pain further, his muscles trembled beneath his skin.

He hesitated, then decided to ask. He didn’t want to startle the man unnecessarily, or damage any small rapport they may have for now.

“Q? I want to help you.  I do not know what has been done to you in the past, but my intent is only to aid. May I?”

 “I… I’m not really in a position to say no, am I?” Q shrugged helplessly, then bit his lip when the motion jostled his many hurts.

“You can _always_ say no to me. And I’ll respect that, as much as I possibly can.”

Q stared up at him, confused, lost looking, like he didn’t understand. He paused in his efforts at disrobing.

“What is it you want of me? With me? From me?” For all that his face looked distant and befuddled, his voice was sharp and, so, Tiago saw, were the eyes. They were just unfocused.

“I want you well, first of all. Or at least as well as anyone can ask, physically. Tell me, Q, you wear glasses?”

“I—yeah, yes I should. They um. Took mine.”

Tiago hummed. “We will see about replacing them. Now, if you do not wish me to help, would you like me to leave? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” His eyes did dart to his razor, though, and he had to wonder how he would be able to take it from the room before he left, without making it obvious that he feared Q would hurt him, or himself, if left unattended.

“No, I’m sorry—please. I… I could use the help.”

Tiago nodded, then lifted his hands to gently pull at the knit fabric, attempting to slip it over Q’s head without upsetting his hands. But the sweater was stuck to his body in several spots, places his skin had been broken and left untended,

Q hissed air in between clenched teeth, then gasped when Tiago gave him a pitying look, but pulled at it anyway, befire cutting himself off from crying out by biting his lip.

“Shh, shhh, I have it now.” Tiago assured him. The sweater slipped away and he saw his first glimpse of Q’s torso, mottled with wounds in varying stages of healing. The beatings, it seemed, had not begun with his attempts at gaining access to MI6.

There was no undershirt, only the shadows cast by the sharp, sterile lighting of the bathroom, which did nothing to hide the darkened skin below it or the lines from the collar that had clearly spent a while around Q’s neck.

Who knew how many layers of hurts this man had  suffered that had disappeared with time.

Tiago hesitated again, but Q stood and began pulling at his waistband, his head turned carefully away so that he didn’t risk looking Tiago in the face.  Tiago knelt to help him, making sure to allow Q his dignity. His eyes followed only the course of the trousers’ descent, wincing a bit in sympathy when they stuck to knees that had scabbed into the fabric.

They had clearly made him spend a good amount of time kneeling, and his knees were swollen and infected because of it.

He remembered watching this man flung to the ground on the dock, and how he hadn’t even cried out. A new wave of respect hit him.

Pants down and divested of his boxers, Q stood awkwardly, hunching into himself, waiting. He looked wary, like he felt he’d walked into a trap, and was just waiting for it to spring.

“Let me help you into the water.” Tiago said, stopping the flow.

“You really aren’t—“ Q cut himself off, and Tiago had the good grace to ignore it, since, judging by the flush, Q wouldn’t take kindly to him questioning it.

He helped him into a sitting position in the tub, then excused himself for a moment to see to the broth. He added a bit of protein powder to it, stirred that in, and then returned to the man in his bathroom.

His footsteps fell quietly, and Q was busy staring miserably at the way the water distorted his already crooked fingers. He didn’t notice his approach, so he stopped in the doorway, and just looked for a moment, trying to reconstruct in his mind some of the treatment that Q had received.

It did seem they had kept him kneeling, unfed, probably in front of a computer. The chain around his neck appeared to have been kept just too short for him to sit comfortably—forcing him into poor posture that was now habit, and forcing his head down in a show of false deference.

With the scrapes on his knees, it seemed likely that he had been repeatedly man handled into that position and dragged up out of it, likely before his feet had been able to hold his weight after regaining blood flow.

The bruises on his sides seemed to be about on par with kicks to his ribs, and bile rose at the thought of him having gone through this for who knew how long. Tiago cleared his throat.

Q startled, the water making sharp slapping noises against the sides of the tub when he moved his arms, as if to take the focus away from his hands.

“May I wash you? I made a simple meal for your stomach—we’ll build you up to something more solid, but I would like to be able to see how severe your hurts are, so that I know what supplies I should get tomorrow.”

Q just nodded, though his eyes were still wide and frightened, like a rabbit cornered.

“Q, I know you’ve been through much, but I will not harm you. You have my word—under my roof, you will be safe.” It came out more fervent than he had perhaps intended, but rang all the more true for it, and the words made Q relax somewhat, so it hardly mattered.

He washed Q carefully, but efficiently, not willing to let the man sit in a tub that would only be getting cold by the time all of the grime was gone. Indeed, by the time he was done, the water had gone beige and the tub was sure to have a ring around it.

“Can you stand for a minute while I rinse you with the shower head? If not, just say so. I know your knees are in poor shape.” He somehow shaped the last bit into a question, and Q nodded, though he looked uncertain.

“I think I can. They—I spent a lot of time kneeling. On frozen peas, if it’d done something wrong; on concrete if I hadn’t.”

The answer, it turned out, was only somewhat yes. Q’s knees were weak, and he ended up having to hold on to Tiago’s shoulder while the last traces of his imprisonment swirled down the drain.

Tiago helped him out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel.

“Here are the pain killers. Stay here, I will fetch clothing, and then we will see about feeding you.” He watched Q swallow the pills, then nodded to himself and went to select some pieces from his own wardrobe that might not be too uncomfortable for Q, at least for the night.

When Q was dressed and had swallowed down the soup and some water, Tiago took him into the sole bedroom of this flat.

“I am going to have you lay out on the bed, we will wait for the pain killers to kick in fully, and then I am going to pop your fingers back into shape. Understand—it will be very uncomfortable, and they will likely be sore and inflamed and you will have to relearn to use them, as the muscles build back up.”

Q nodded eagerly and lay down as instructed.

Tiago looked down at him, taking in the sight of the man whose life he now held. He swam in Tiago’s clothes, and he did not consider himself particularly large. The bruises and scrapes stood in stark contrast to the pale of the freshly clean skin. And his eyes sat so dark in his face, like twin lakes, though Tiago knew that was just the light.

“This is going to hurt.” He warned one final time, and he watched as Q composed himself, his shoulders squaring against the pain and his breathing deepening.

Tiago lifted Q’s left hand and pinched the tip of the fist finger between his thumb and forefinger.

Without so much as another warning, he pulled and twisted, sliding it back in place.

Q grunted, the sound loud in the small room, and Tiago paused.

Q had no patience for his small squirmishness, though.

“Just do them, it’s fine. I want this.” The words were rasped and ground out between pants, but it was what Tiago needed to hear. He set the next two fingers quickly and efficiently, until Q cried out, before quickly silencing himself.

The pinky slid home, and it wasn’t until Tiago had popped the thumb back into form that he noticed the blood that was now running from where Q was biting down on his lip.

“Ah, no…” He thumbed at the mess. “Q this place is soundproofed. If you need to scream, you let it out. I won’t think any less of you for it.”

Q stared at him, breath puffing hotly over his hand and cooling the blood on both of their skins. His eyes narrowed and his lip trembled.

“What you mean to say is, no one will hear me scream.” He sounded resigned again.

Tiago stared at him and felt his temper flare. He knew, logically, that trust would take time, that Q had been through a lot, that there was no way for him to prove to him that he wasn’t planning on torturing or murdering him.

But he had to all but bite his tongue to keep from railing at him, anyway.

“Don’t scream then. Injure yourself more. I will treat that too.” He snapped, then held his hand out for Q’s other hand, ignoring the rest of the person attached to it.

Q shivered and sat his palm down on Tiago’s, the gesture both pleading and placating. Tiago felt his bristling calm, and returned to work.

Once all of the fingers looked like fingers again, he retreated to his closet and pulled out his first aid kit. He also grabbed the fresh box of yellow writing pencils, unopened because he hadn’t stayed here long enough in the past to make use of it.

He cut them down and used the pencils for temporary splints, then bandaged the fingers straight.

“I don’t want you to try bending or using these just yet, yes?”

“Alright.” Q agreed almost too easily. His eyes were locked on his unbandaged hand, and they were glistening with tears.

“It hurts a lot? I have a stronger painkiller, but it will send you to sleep.”

“No. No, I—thank you.” Q was all but gasping his gratitude, and he could see the shake of the man trying to keep himself in check.

Tiago finished the wrapping he was doing, then reached for Q’s shoulders, telegraphing the movement so that if he objected, he could dissent however he saw fit.

When he flinched, Tiago stilled, and it was Q who leaned forward and initiated the hug, clinging to Tiago’s back by wrapping his arms around him, careful not to jog his fingers in the process.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was directly below Tiago’s ear and it was weak  with emotion. “I’m sorry I got you involved, and I’m sorry I’m such a mess and… and thank you.”

“Shhh, shh, shh.” Tiago stroked his hair, pressed a hand against the side of his face, and pulled them apart.

“I can count the number of people in the world who have garnered respect from me. It would be a shame to lose one of them. Let me finish your hand, and then sleep—it has been a long night, and you will need the rest to heal.”

Q sat back, looking like he wanted to say more, but Tiago ignored it. He wasn’t all that good with emotions, far too inexperienced with familial ones and certainly not close enough with anyone to have been called on as a friend. So all he could do was treat this man as a victim, when he hardly deserved such a distinction.

He had been a victim. But he was a survivor.

He finished bandaging Q’s hands and double checked to be sure they would last the night.

“Tomorrow when the shops open I will go and get proper splints and some more food stuffs and clothes. For now, just try and be a bit mindful of them, and try to rest.”

Q nodded, already letting himself drift off. Tiago thought it was likely that he had been drowsing since he came out of the tub, and with the pain and medication, it wouldn’t be long before he was out like a lamp.

He retreated, leaving the door open behind him, so that if Q should make any noise during the night, he would hear him.

He returned to the bathroom to tidy up the mess, then moved to the kitchen to do the same. He took inventory and made lists of things to buy.

It seemed almost too domestic to be using his ill gotten gains, siphoned from the bank accounts of every cell he took down, on things like paper towels and butter, but he couldn’t risk Mum and her men finding the two of them. A slight panic took him at the thought of having to keep Q as something between a prisoner and a pet—if mum found him, or found out about him, he would be killed, and Tiago himself would be punished in ways that even he could hardly shrug off.

That was a worry for later though. He thought now might be a good time to take one of him permissionless vacations. He didn’t ask; they couldn’t say no, and all he got was a finger wag and some harsh words when he returned to duty. Likely this time would be different because of the investigation on him that would have to be launched, thanks to his method of procuring his bargaining chips, but he could hardly bring himself to care just now.

He checked back in on Q, frowning to himself at the man’s discomfort. His brow furrowed, and he slept with his wrists together and raised to eye level, as though he was used to being tied in that position. The muscled around his eyes twitched with his dreaming, and whatever it was that he saw, it was causing him to make small whines in the back of his throat.

Tiago couldn’t help it. He used his thumb to smooth the troubled lines in his forehead, and Q relaxed under his touch. He backed away, afraid that he would wake him if he did anything more.

 Just now, he was ready to curl up on his small sofa and have a well earned nap. Tomorrow would bring new things.

007*

He was loath to leave Q alone, unsure if he should expect attacks or escape attempts, or what, exactly. But there were things they would need, and he had to secure a visit from one of his favorite back alley optometrists.

So the simple answer was to drug the man, put him out with sedatives that would keep him out for the couple of hours that Tiago should be gone. He wasn’t proud, but he also wasn’t all that torn up about his actions; Q could use the rest, he was sure, and probably far more than his body would give him naturally. So he gave him a quick injection and made sure to lock the door and set the security system behind him.

Contact made with Doctor Yeung and supplies procured, he returned home.

Q was still out, so he took the opportunity and got started on lunch.

He was just finishing with dinner when Q wandered into the kitchen, looking bleary eyed and lost, and rubbing his neck where the needle had gone in.

“How long have I been asleep?” He asked, voice heavy yet with the drug or just drowsiness, it was hard to say.

“It is nearly time for dinner. But I am sure you needed the rest.” He didn’t offer any information about how Q was able to sleep so long—if Q didn’t ask, there was no need to destroy his confidence in his living arrangements.

“What did you make? It smells amazing.”

“Pork stew, with clams. It’s got a little spice to it, but nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle.” He dished an overly large bowl and gestured at the table.

“How—“ Q cut himself off, and Tiago smiled encouragingly.

“I will feed the both of us. Have a seat.” The chairs were pulled out enough that Q should have no problem taking one, and Tiago watched him do so before coming to the table himself.

He lifted the spoon to Q’s lips, and watched Q take his first bite, hesitant and slow, before his eyes closed and he leaned back, enjoying it. Q’s stomach lurched and gurgled, and Tiago smiled.

“This is… so good. Wow.” Tiago chewed his own bite, then lifted the spoon again for Q. Somehow it didn’t seem intimate, despite their closeness and the act of feeding. It was just a meal, and that fact seemed to put both of them more at ease.

“I think you are biased by your hunger. Go slowly.” He cautioned, but made sure that Q did keep eating.

Nourished and comfortably full, Q sat back in his chair, and Tiago pushed the bowl away.

“Would you like to talk now about the future?”

Q made a small noise of distress in his throat, but nodded just the same.

“You may ask anything you like—I won’t be angry and I will attempt to explain as best as I can. But allow me to tell you of the immediate future, yes?”

“Alright.” Q said faintly.

“I have Doctor Yeung coming tonight after he closes his practice. He will test you for your new glasses.”

“I can’t pay for them.” Q said, as if that wasn’t patently obvious.

“I can. You don’t owe me anything, yet.”

“But I will, at some point?” The life seemed to snap back into him, his cheeks flushing a little.

“When you are capable of it, and when my superiors are no longer thinking of you, aware of the rules I broke in order to get my hands on you, then yes. Then I will put you in front of a computer again, and, if you are willing, I would have you help me.”

“So England isn’t going to know about me?”

“No one will. Not until all recollection of the identity Q has died out. It may be years.”

“And all of my knowledge will have become obsolete during that time!” Q retorted hotly.

Tiago shrugged. “But you will be alive. Besides, I believe that you will be a quick learner. But that is for later.”

“And between now and then?” Q prompted, still somewhat annoyed sounding.

“You will stay here.” Tiago said simply, shrugging.

“As in… not leave?”

“I don’t want your face attributed to this address, or anywhere near me. When I reinvent you later, you must never have been seen with me before.”

“So you won’t be killing me… but I won’t really be allowed to live, either.” Again, that determined resignation.

“It won’t be so bad. You need time to heal, and I will bring you anything you need—games, that do not link to the internet. Books, food, clothing… you will want for nothing.” He was doing his best.

“You said before that you respected me—why? For my mind? That you propose to lock up and allow to rust until you feel safe enough letting me out into the world?”

“When you hacked into MI6, I knew it was you based on the configuration of your commands. Anyone studying the situation will be able to see your style. I need that style to disappear, because if it doesn’t, I will have sacrificed my life to save yours, and then they will find you, kill you, and we will both have died.” He returned the volley just as hotly as he received it.

“I’m sorry. I am grateful—really, I am. I owe you my life, I know that. But I have lost so much time… and lost so much, altogether… I just.” He took a deep breath and looked down at where his bandaged hands rested in his lap. Tiago followed his eyes then looked back up at his lowered head, watched his shoulders deflate.

“I respect your spirit, Q. I respect that you have been able to last through all of this without being broken, without losing it. And I will do everything I can not to be your final straw. Besides—you won’t be here alone. Not for some time. I am taking a hiatus from work… I am in trouble for this, too, and until there is a suitably large mission that I can use to redeem myself, I think I will lay low and allow it to blow over.” He gestured as he spoke, subtly underlining Q’s inability to do the same.

Q watched his hands move, and nodded.

“I’m sorry. For getting you in trouble, I mean. That was such a dumb idea. I just… I had no reason not to take the chance.”

“And I respect your pragmatism. But now, we should dress you for the doctor’s arrival. I purchased some things that will fit you better than my clothing.”

He stood from the table and deposited the bowl in the sink, then followed Q back to his own room. He helped strip him down, and, if dinner hadn’t been intimate, without Q being as skittish and as hurt now, it suddenly was.

It didn’t help that the light was softer in here, lending shadows to the planes of his concave stomach and making the goose flesh that rose when Tiago ‘accidentally’ brushed a hand across the skin of his arm, even more defined.

He looked like some sort of faerie creature, likely to dissolve into dust and blow away if handled too roughly, though the thought was ridiculous, of course. He was far more resilient than anyone had any expectation of being.

Tiago checked over the bandages on Q’s knees, opting to change out the one on the right, which had soaked through with pus and blood. He put on some of the antibiotic cream he’d picked up and rewrapped it, before helping the man into a pair of soft, loose fitting, but still _fitting_ trousers, and a shirt that would move with him.

He’d no sooner gotten him settled on the couch than the ring from his security system alerted him to someone’s presence, followed a minute later by a buzzing of his gate-bell.

It was, as expected, only the doctor.

He let the man in, a crotchety looking older man, hair on his face still dark, though the hair on his head had long since thinned and turned an ashy white.

He let him set up his equipment on the dinner table, hovering somewhere between the doctor and Q, trying to be accessible to whomever might need help first.

“I need my patient here, please.” Kim Yeung asked, and Q stood immediately, obviously familiar with at least parts of the language, to be able to obey.

He helped to sit Q in the chair, and Yeung looked at him with calculating eyes that he was somewhat uncomfortable with.

But all the same he began looking into Q’s eyes through his devices, adjusting little balancing weights.

“Better this way?” He asked, and Q pulled back to look at Tiago questioningly.

“He wants to know which is better.” Tiago explained, and Q nodded, then raised his hand to indicate. Over and over, they played the this or that game, until Doctor Yeung was satisfied. He pulled out ten or fifteen pairs of glasses, and Q picked a simple black pair.

He gave Tiago a time frame to stop by the shop and pick up the finished glasses, and Tiago thanked him and paid him for his efforts, and it was all surprisingly painless.

It wasn’t until Kim Yeung had gone that Q asked,

“Are you going to kill him, once you get what you need from him?”

He seemed afraid to ask, hesitant to hear the answer as much as he was worried about upsetting Tiago, especially in the wake of his latest show of generosity.

“Yeung is neutral. He serves many masters, and he has known how to keep his mouth shut for nearly fifty years. This may come as a surprise to you, though it shouldn’t all things considered, but I am not all that eager to kill when unnecessary. I will, I can… but such a mess! All the clean up, and the hiding, and then the trouble of replacing him… No. He will keep your secret. And provide excellent glasses, to boot!”

Q looked chastised, and somewhat… disgruntled? Perhaps he had taken Tiago’s words about the safety inherent in his anonymity to heart. Tiago hoped that was the case.

Although the alternative was just that the little man with bandages on his hands was blood thirsty.

“So with that done… what am I to do with my time?” Q asked after an uncomfortable, fidgety silence. Tiago looked around.

“There is a film collection. I assume you will find something there that you would enjoy watching.” Q’s lip curled a bit at the suggestion, and Tiago held up a hand to silence him, the gesture damn near imperious.

“Or you are welcome to any of the books you may find here.”

“Mindless media consumption it is, then. And… I can’t turn pages with my hands in the temporary state of oven mitts.” Tiago inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of it.

“I will read to you, if you select a book.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll stick with your action flick library.” Q was polite, but simultaneously snide. It was going to drive Tiago mad.

“I think you will be surprised. There is a great deal more than action flicks there—in fact, you may be hard pressed to find one. I’m a bit immune to their charms, I’m afraid.”

Q looked him up and down, then laughed. It was a strange sound, musical and grating, dry, like it hadn’t been used in a while.

“Yes, I suppose you would be, wouldn’t you?” He shook his head wonderingly as he said so. “My life seems to be a long, slow burning action film.”

“Mine, not so slow.” Tiago turned the lights off in the kitchen and living room as they withdrew into the den, and too late he realized that he’d been lax in his housekeeping. He’d left the couch strewn with blankets and pillows, making it impossible to sit.

“Just a moment.” He requested, and began folding them up.

“Wait, did you—are you sleeping on the couch? That couch?” Q sounded both surprised and slightly… impressed? Tiago was pretty good at reading people, but it seemed Q was a bit of a mystery.

“I am.” He responded evenly, and Q went silent, maybe because of the tone of his voice. Tiago dismissed it.

Q selected, of all things to watch, Amadeus.

“Surely that was out even before you were captured?” Tiago asked, certain that he would have movies Q hadn’t even heard of.

“It was. It’s one of my favorites. And sometimes, the best stories are the ones you already know.”

“A bit like ‘the best books are the ones that tell you what you know already’. Nineteen eighty four.” Tiago nodded, setting up the player.

“Not such a brainless brute after all.” Q teased, and Tiago smiled.

“This brainless brute got your duck recipe in under twelve minutes.” He volleyed back, and a lopsided smile settled on Q’s face, as the screen lit with golden filtered light, and the first strains of sound began.

Q settled in, bringing his knees up and his feet onto the couch and curling in on himself to take up the least amount of room possible. It was startling to see how small he could make himself, and Tiago felt like there was a good likelihood that he could be put into a duffle bag for transport.

Tiago sat gingerly on the opposite side of the couch and they watched in silence, getting wrapped up in the story and their own heads.

When it was over, Tiago looked to Q, and found the younger man had fallen asleep, still wound tightly inward. He wondered how his captors had had him sleep, how he had been kept, what care they had given… And any thought he might have had, momentarily, of leaving him on the couch and reclaiming his own bed was pushed from his mind.

He reached over and gently touched Q’s shoulder.

He startled awake, flinching into the arm of the couch and bringing his hands up to cover his face.

Tiago frowned, and a moment later when Q realized where he was and lowered his hands, he looked wary and embarrassed.

“You should sleep in the bed, rather than on half of the couch.” Tiago offered, not sure what else to say.

Watching Q unfold himself was a bit like watching a flower bloom in time lapse videos; he unfurled his legs, which apparently made up half of his body mass, if not more, and then stood, swaying ever so slightly from his recent state of sleep.

He looked down at Tiago, then shook his head.

“The bed is large enough, and… The couch isn’t. Why don’t we share it? Just don’t--” He bit it off, but the available endings trailed in the air. _Touch me. Expect anything. Ask for more. Hurt me. Acknowledge my nightmares. Take advantage of my weakness._

“If you are comfortable with the idea.” Tiago nodded, gesturing that Q ought to lead the way back to the room. He followed, a demure few steps behind, not wanting to crowd Q or make him think that Tiago was eager for any reason other than the ability to stretch out and wake without a stiff neck.

They slid into opposite sides of the bed, and there was no intimacy to it. They lay in the dark, listening to breaths and heartbeats, and Tiago waited as he felt Q slowly relaxing muscles that had been tensed for the worst.

He wasn’t so much a skittish animal as a beaten one, not necessarily afraid of the next pain, just constantly convinced that it was coming. He hoped that would fade with time, as Q’s faith in him grew, and he hoped that, when he could safely allow him outside, he didn’t have that problem with the public at large. Maybe the kindness of a relative stranger, over time, could cure it. At least, that was the best he could hope.

Sleep came for Tiago finally, though he knew Q wasn’t asleep. Not just yet. He wasn’t worried, though. Without his hands there wasn’t much damage he could do, but it occurred to him that some day soon, he may have to be afraid. He wouldn’t think for a single second that just because Q was frail, he wasn’t a survivor. He would do whatever it took to stay alive, to be able to live, and Tiago got the feeling that while he healed, Q would be learning as much as possible, testing for weaknesses, and making plans for escape.

For now, he began making plans to care for Q as best as he could, while he was still incapable of causing harm. Keep him close, keep him safe, keep him happy—and maybe, when he was able again, he would stay out of loyalty, out of trust, out of his own free will, rather than any games of cat and mouse.

Tiago smiled in his sleepy state, enjoying the thought of that.

007*

When the splints were ready to come off, they both held their breath. It was nearly Christmas, and Tiago had teased Q that it was an early gift.

“How did you celebrate in the past?” He inquired, making small talk like he always did, seeking to know more about Q. Sometimes he was more forthcoming than others. He was a bit captive right now, though, as Tiago was working on removing the medical tape on his first finger.

“When I was younger it was very traditional. Tree. Cards, gifts, ham. Snowmen, family, the whole thing. My father died, though… we were vacationing so we wouldn’t have to be home for our first Christmas without him, and then…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Last year they told me if I could get the plans for the Hoerengerr project, I could see my Mother for Christmas. I did. They gave me a photo of her, tied to a chair with tape over her mouth.” He delivered it the same way he did everything about his captivity, with a sort of attempted emotionlessness that just highlighted the distress and upset that lurked under the surface of his crepe paper mask.

“I’m very sorry.” Tiago said, and allowed silence to rise around them while he worked.

They were seated at the dining room table, a month to the day after Tiago had brought Q here. The bandages came undone and Q let his shaking hands lay flat before him, so that Tiago could examine them that way.

He lifted the right in between both hands, as if it were as delicate and precious as a fledgling bird. In a way, to him, it was. He wanted Q to be whole, wanted him to be not only able to take care of himself, but also to be useful again with his knowledge of computers, with his cunning for circumnavigating little roadblocks, like security.

Gently, carefully, he bent each digit, testing the joint. Q made low, anxious noises in his throat the entire time, but once he had finished, Tiago lay the hand back on the table, atop the other, and covered them both with his own, much larger hand.

“They will be just fine.” He proclaimed solemnly. Q gasped and let out a grateful sob. “You will find them clumsy for now, but in time you will be able to rebuild your dexterity. You will have to practice.”

“What...” Q cleared his throat, his voice too thick to even pass as normal. “What can I practice on? I know you don’t want me around computers, but the keys…” He bit his lip, still too unsure of himself to ask for more than he was given.

It was a continuing problem; every activity had to be proposed to Q, and though he would turn down anything he didn’t want to do, he seemed uncomfortable with asking for anything. It was infuriating, trying to predict his needs and wants, when he tried so hard to keep his emotions and reactions locked down.

“I will get you some things. Believe me, Q, I will not let you languish.” He felt as though Q should know as much by now, but knew that if he said so, Q would withdraw, fold in on himself, and fall silent until he felt that his misstep had been forgotten. It was a pattern he had begun not long after his arrival, and every attempt of breaking him of it had resulted in tears that he tried desperately to hide, and him attempting to end the conversation by leaving the room.

Q nodded, seeming to accept the intent behind the words.

“I think this is cause for celebration! I will get you therapy equipment, and while I am out, dinner. What would you like, anything, any food. And drinks, alcohol?” He felt like he was walking the line between exuberance and desperation.

“I um. I haven’t ever drank… too young, before, and then.” He shrugged. “But… do you think… lasagna?” Tiago grinned. Slowly, he was learning Q’s preferences.

“Lasagna, absolutely—do you have interest in drinking?” He was curious what Q would think of alcohol. He imagined beer would be too bitter to appeal to him. Whiskey perhaps, warm with a honey undertone. Wine.

He watched as Q’s tongue traced his lips nervously.

“I—“ he paused. “I wouldn’t mind trying. I just… don’t know what I like.”

“Allow me to find something for you.” Tiago gave him a smooth smile. “I won’t be gone long. Would you like me to put in a movie for you?”

“I think…” Q raised his hands and looked at them, marveling still. “I think I’ll do it myself.” His eyes darted up to meet Tiago’s. “Thank you.”

Tiago nodded and fetched his coat and hat.

The markets were crowded with people, Christmas celebration planning well underway. It made it easy to find childrens’ toys, play computers that would displays words typed on screen, and did nothing else. The last one on the shelf was bright pink and carried the image of a bright eyed doll faced princess, but it would do. At least the key configuration was true to life.

He also walked past a keyboard piano before reconsidering. He didn’t know if Q had any musical ability or knowledge, but practice and playing would be a good way to help him pass the time.

He got that, too, along with the frozen lasagna that Q had eaten three quarters of on his own the last time they’d had it. He thought twice, and grabbed a second one. If it was a celebration they should gorge themselves on it.

The alcohol posed a little more of a problem, so he settled for purchasing several different kinds, sure that if Q didn’t appreciate them, he would still drink most everything he’d purchased.

Coming back home, he was surprised to see Q rising from his place on the couch to greet him, and his first thought at seeing him hold his arms out was that something had happened to his hands. He was a little surprised at the shock of cold panic that jolted through him, then gratified when he realized Q was trying to take some of the bags that were burdening him.

He handed over the bag with the child’s laptop in it, and sat the heavy drink bags down on the kitchen counter.

Q opened the bag he held, curious, and pulled it out, carefully, still wary of hurting his hands.

When he saw what it was, he made a small noise of distress. It made Tiago’s head jerk up, and he saw Q setting it back on the table slowly, silently, before withdrawing, but not before shooting a hurt look in Tiago’s direction.

He closed the oven where he’d been depositing the lasagna and followed, only to hear the lock of the bathroom door tumble into place. He leaned in, pressing his ear there to try and see how much damage he’d done with his thoughtlessness.

Of course Q would feel like he was mocking him. He should have thought; the gift had seemed funny at the time.

He heard the sound of a towel being pulled from the bar, and then Q sat, keening softly into it, the sound muffled. He didn’t want Tiago to hear. He usually didn’t. But Tiago didn’t want to ignore it. Not this time. Not when it was his fault, and not when, from the small things he’d said or let slip, it seemed so much like something his captors would have done. Cruel. Needlessly so. Taunting him with a parody of what he really wanted.

Hardly Tiago’s intention. But he understood how it had been misconstrued.

He rapped on the door softly, with a single knuckle.

“Q?” He called, and Q swallowed his sob, biting it off and inhaling deeply, trying to gain control.

“Please..” his voice was strained with emotion. Tiago had to fight the urge to leave him to it, combating it with the urge to pull Q to his chest and card his fingers through his hair.

“Q, please, that was thoughtless and careless and unfunny. I apologize.”

Q hiccupped, then again, and he could hear him shuffling around before the door unlocked and Q faced him.

He’d removed his glasses—Tiago could see them on the counter behind him. His eyes were red rimmed, and his cheeks were still wet. Something about him not wearing the glasses that Tiago was so used to seeing on him made him look that much more vulnerable; that much more hurt.

He’d been so careful to maintain a good distance, he couldn’t break that care now, couldn’t wrap his arms around the slight form, which, no matter how much he fed the man, never seemed to get much larger, though his bones were not so prominent as they had been.

“Please forgive me. The key placement was correct and it was very affordable, but I will get you a simple keyboard if you would prefer that?” He made it an offer, tried to cast about for something to appeal to Q with, some sort of olive branch.

The hiccups continued, and Q was just staring, obviously not trusting his voice to say anything.

“Here, let’s get you something to drink. A shot of whiskey should cure your hiccups.” He stood aside, unblocking the door, and giving Q the option of coming out, of forgiving him. He was blocking the bedroom door though, so the options were to come out or continue to hide in the echoing bathroom, which was, in Tiago’s professional opinion, the worst place for miserable hiccups.

Q came out, leaving the towel behind and grabbing his glasses. He sat at the table and dragged a sleeve across his eyes before he replaced the frames on his face.

He squeaked a little as the next hiccup came, and Tiago poured twin glasses for himself and Q, breaking the seal on the bottle within his eyesight.

Q had been very particular, at first, about eating and drinking anything that Tiago didn’t also have. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to revert to a more careful state, with his latest misstep so fresh in mind.

He passed it to Q, letting him smell it before he took a healthy swallow, not quite the whole cup, but close.

He had to hide his smile behind the rim of his glass while Q sputtered and his face flushed.

“Either slowly or all at once.” He advised. “In between will do you few favors.”

Q gave him a look that clearly said ‘Couldn’t you have said so before?’ and finished his drink.

“Well. Not how I’d imagined my first drink happening. It doesn’t taste entirely awful, though. What is it?”

“Whiskey. How did you imagine it happening, then?” He asked, refilling the glass with another couple of fingers, since Q had so enjoyed the first.

“I don’t know. Thanks. Um… in a pub I guess. On my birthday, with a few friends. Nothing big, nothing flashy. This is nice too, though.” He hurriedly assured Tiago.

His eyes darted to the child’s computer, though, and immediately he looked guilty. Before Tiago could say anything, he was slugging back the entire drink.

“Easy. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, but I would like not to revisit the eggs any time soon.” He cautioned. He moved the pink disaster back into the bag Q had pulled it from, and set it to the side, out of sight, out of mind.

“How long on the lasagna?” Q asked, and Tiago checked his watch.

“Another full hour, at least.”

“Well it isn’t as though I have to drive anywhere or do anything. Can I try some other type of alcohol?” Q seemed very into the idea, so Tiago stood to gather the bottles to the table, then returned for mixers from the refrigerator.

The next hour was spent mixing and tasting and laughing at the varying faces one another made. Trust alcohol to combine the most honestly happy, companionable moment they had shared since the situation had begun.

And when the oven timer went off, Tiago cleared the bottles to one end of the table and pulled out the wine that he had bought for with supper, aerating it before setting it before Q.

He served the lasagna and handed Q his own fork for the first time in a month, then watched as he used it, looking for any signs of the loss of coordination, or anything that might be wrong.

It was hard to tell through the inebriation. Not so surprisingly, Q was a bit of a light weight.

But it seemed to be all for the good; he was eating his celebratory dinner, and it honestly felt like a celebration.

Q was good company, speaking on his own without being prompted, asking questions about where and how Tiago had first learned of a particular type of drink, and generally unclenching. The walls were coming down, and Tiago found himself liking it.

It wasn’t until after dinner that he remembered the other keyboard.

“I forgot!” He all but yelled, hitting himself on the forehead. “I brought for you something else as well. Wait here.” He gestured at the loveseat and hurried into the garage, returning with the large box.

He sat it down in Q’s lap, and stood waiting.

“I hope it’s okay. I didn’t know if you were a musical person, but either way, you can learn, and it will help your fingers. What do you think?”

Q ran his hands softly over the cardboard and smiled up at him, happy tears in his eyes.

“I haven’t played in …years.” Q clearly had given up trying to figure out how long it had been since he’d played. He was feeling the drinks he’d had. “You’ll probably regret this in a day or two. But thank you. Really, thank you.” He was so sincere, so overwhelmed, that Tiago found himself swooping in and dropping a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Happy Christmas, Q.” He said cheerfully. He left Q to begin setting up the keyboard, and he started capping bottles and tidying the kitchen.

A minute later, he was surprised to find Q behind him, arms wrapping around his waist in a hug, his body a line of warmth pressed against him.

He turned around and carefully hugged Q back, giving him plenty of opportunity to pull away.

Q leaned in and rested his head on Tiago’s chest.

He chuckled, and Q turned his head, looking up at him.

“I like your laugh. You should do that more, it’s rumble…y.”

“You are drunk, my young friend.” He decided to take advantage a little bit, and ran his palm over Q’s messy hair, stroking it the way he had wanted to almost since he’d met him. But that was it, no more than that. Because while he had matched Q drink for drink, he was bigger, more used to alcohol than Q was. He could handle it.

“If I am, ‘s your fault.” Q pointed out, logical as ever, even while swaying and holding onto the man holding him captive, whose most casual touches he had shrunk from in the past.

“Come on, have some water—it will help you not to hate the world come morning.” He had to do a strange sort of shuffle over to the sink, since Q seemed set on holding onto him—maybe out of fear of sliding to the floor, otherwise.

Once the glass was in hand, he found Q unable or unwilling to take it from him, which le to him tipping the man’s head back with a gentle hand on his jaw, and tipping small sips of water into his mouth with the other.

“You’re a bit ridiculous just now.” He remarked, though it was lightly, teasingly.

“I’m allowed. It’s Christmas.” He said, nearly petulant, and when Tiago turned back to face him from setting the glass back on the counter, Q lunged up and kissed him.

Tiago wasn’t entirely ready for that; he found himself at a loss as to what he should do. He let his hands drift down to Q’s elbows, and gently pulled him away.

“Q?” He asked, and Q sighed.

“You’re always so nice to me.” Q’s legs seemed to be perfectly timed, giving out just then so that he ended up on the floor. And his reaction to this started out as a giggle before bubbling up into a genuine laugh. Tiago couldn’t help but chuckle a bit himself.

“I think it’s time for me to take you to bed.” Tiago said, faintly amused.

“Well, this _will_ be a night of firsts, won’t it‽” It was really more of an exclamation than a question, and Tiago froze when the statement registered, then bent, letting Q wrap his arms around his neck while he took hold of Q’s waist and rose, pulling him up with him. 

“This will be a night where we go to bed, and in the morning you will have a terrible headache, actually.”

“Mm, I hear sex helps with that, too.” Q said archly, snuggling into Tiago’s collarbone.

Tiago made a noncommittal grunting noise, and helped take Q to the bedroom, where he sat him down on the bed.

He was allowed to pull Q’s shirt off over his head, just like every night, before his hands were batted away.

“I can take my own pants off now!” Q said, as proud as a child with a macaroni art. His demonstration of that ability, however, culminated in him over balancing and ending up on the bedroom floor with his pants twined around his ankles, laughing.

Tiago rolled his eyes and picked him up, ignoring his scrawny legs while he pulled his pants off properly and swung them to the side, so that they were no longer a tripping hazard.

He tucked Q in, and had to pull himself free of the weak, relatively unresisting hands that held his arms before he got to the other side of the bed. He hesitated, then retreated. Better to let Q drift of to sleep than let him become handsy, and have to deal with the embarrassment that Tiago was sure would follow the next day.

He went out and finished his clean up, already looking forward to Q being able to help with some of the household chores that made him feel less like an agent and more like the help.

But cleanup didn’t take all that long, and so he set about putting together Q’s keyboard and stool, the work of twenty minutes with a hex wrench. By then, he was sure that the booze would have already allowed Q to drift off.

He snuck back into the room, able to see in the dim light of the bedside lamp, and what he did saw made him pause.

Q was in bed, the covers thrown back, along with his head. His neck was long and lean and bare, and his muscles stood out tensely as he bit back his moaning. His hand slicked over his erection with wet noises, and Tiago remembered the lubricant that he kept in the drawer of the table on his side of the bed—wondered when Q had discovered it and what he must have thought, doing so.

He found himself refusing to inhale as Q’s pace sped up. He knew he ought to back away, to leave, but he couldn’t. Q wasn’t the only one who had been cooped up here for a month and, true, Tiago could have gone and picked someone up, gotten a hotel… he hadn’t. One, it would be too easy to be seen, and two, that would involve leaving Q alone here for far too long.

The sight was enchanting, enrapturing. It made him feel suddenly and oddly possessive. He wanted to own it, wanted to be the only one to ever have this moment. He wanted every sound that came out to belong to him, or, better, be his fault.

As Q cried out and finally began to spill over his hand, Tiago realized he had grown hard, his cock heavy in his altogether too tight pants.

He backed away, cursing as the floor creaked and fleeing to the bathroom to relieve himself of his current state in as near silence as he could manage. He changed into his night wear there, a pair of loose trousers in an appalling plaid that Q had mocked the first time he saw them, but that were comfortable against the skin of his now sensitive dick.

When he came out, he went into the bedroom and stood at the door again, waiting, listening. Q was still and silent, feigning sleep without having actually achieved it just yet.

He thought about going back out, sleeping on the couch, maybe… but he felt like that would only make Q worry he’d done something wrong, when he woke up. Make him more embarrassed.

So he slid into bed, curling onto his side, facing away from Q, strategically turning away from any temptation to touch. Because he wasn’t primarily about men, but he was about beauty, and he did find Q beautiful. But he knew, too, that Q was a combination of inexperienced and terribly mistreated, not to mention temporarily drunk. He didn’t want to hurt the man more, didn’t want to risk marring that beauty.

He felt a warmth at his back, that was his only warning before Q snuggled up to him, his arm snaking over Tiago’s body to rest on his hip. He didn’t say anything, or push any further, and slowly, Tiago let himself relax. That was how he drifted off. That was not how he woke up.

He’d rolled over in his sleep, so when he woke, Q was curled into his chest, clinging to his nightshirt with his newly perfect fingers. Tiago’s lips were pressed against the top of Q’s head, and he was breathing in his curls while he held onto Q’s shoulder, holding him to him. Still, none of this was nearly as problematic as Q’s thigh, which had wedged itself between his and was pressing against areas that he could only wish weren’t responding to the touch.

He tried to pull away, but Q frowned into Tiago’s chest and burrowed closer, a hum of displeasure coming from his throat. Tiago squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for patience.

“Q?” He asked, sounding rougher than he’d like. He cleared his throat. “Q.” He tried again, this time accompanied with a small shake.

Q startled awake and instantly became a ball of tension, before all but springing away from Tiago, only to tumble off the opposite side of the bed.

“Jesus, Q.” He couldn’t help but laugh as he sat up to make sure the other man was okay, and he found the boffin sitting up on the floor, braced on his hands and staring up with wide eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asked, unable to keep the mirth entirely out of his voice.

“You’re hard!” Q sputtered, and Tiago sighed.

“I was asleep and you were touching me. I’m sorry—but if it helps, nothing happened, and nothing has to.” He wanted to reassure Q. He had no idea how many bad porns the man had seen to perhaps suggest that it was his job to take care of any hard on he caused.

But Q almost seemed to deflate. Relief, Tiago thought, pleased that he’d said the right thing, until Q looked back up at him with moist eyes.

“What if… I wanted something to?” The words were vulnerable. He knew what he was saying, but he wouldn’t make eye contact. He looked the way he had when Tiago first brought him home, miserable and hopeless and folding in on himself.

“How much do you remember of last night?” Tiago hedged, suddenly feeling quite off guard.

“I remember you watching me cum in your bed, then walking away.” He said softly. “I remember thinking… hoping that you wanted me. I’m sorry. I… I guess I was wrong.” He looked so mortified, so distraught and crestfallen that Tiago could hardly stand it. Again rose in him that urge to hold Q to him and make it better.

Tiago licked his lips, hesitated, then spoke, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I didn’t realize you’d seen me, or I would have said something. I—I do want you, Q. You’re beautiful. But you were drunk, and you’re hurting, and I didn’t want the decision to become a regret on your part. I don’t want it to be one now.”

“You’re so kind to me, I owe you my life, and what’s more, you’re the only person to ever have gone out of their way to make me comfortable, happy… safe. I… think I love you, Tiago. How could I regret…?” Q trailed off, looking entirely too hopeful while Tiago’s stomach turned. Q rose to his knees, forcing Tiago to adjust his seat on the bed, or risk their faces bashing together painfully. Or… less than painfully.

“I don’t know that you are thinking right, even now.” He murmured, trying to think of a less offensive way to suggest that Q’s choices were influenced by Stockholm syndrome, born out of gratitude rather than real attraction. That he would hate him for taking advantage later, if he did. That there was at least a year of being trapped with him to look forward to.  

“I am thinking clearer than I have in a very long while. Please—Tiago, you want me. I want you. I want this. I want it to be you.” Emboldened, Q climbed into the bed, climbed into Tiago’s lap, his warm body weight settling directly over Tiago’s hardness.

Tiago groaned in frustration and let his forehead drop to rest on Q’s shoulder.

Q began arching, dipping his hips, rubbing himself against Tiago, rubbing Tiago over his arousal, creating friction.

“I have that headache you talked about.” Q muttered into his ear. “Help me get rid of it.”

Tiago huffed out a heavy sigh, then opened his eyes and took in Q’s own unfocused pupils, blown out with lust.

Tiago liked to think of himself as… not necessarily good per se, but moral to a point. He would never commit a rape, but he would siphon money out of terrorist cells. He would never kill a child, but he would murder any number of adults that he was told to, for crown and country. He knew that he sinned, he knew that he was a hedonist to a point, and he was okay with that.

He did not know what kind of peace he would be able to make with himself after fucking an inexperienced—boy, really—someone who he was caring for, someone whose frame of mind might be compromised.

At the same time, Q had begun pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying to lift it over his head, and Tiago could hardly bring himself to _care_.

Giving in, he lifted his arms. The fabric passing over his eyes helped delay his sight of Q’s smug, delighted grin for a moment, but only just.

Q’s hands stroked over his chest and Tiago shivered, his hands wanting to stop him, but instead coming to rest on Q’s hips.

And he just gave up, became part of the moment. He tugged at Q’s boxer waistband, pulled him against him again, thrust upwards.

Q let out a soft noise of approval, which ended when Tiago seized his mouth with his own. If he was to teach him this, like with the alcohol, he would show him everything, be the best teacher that he could. Q wriggled closer, pressing against his chest so that he could wrap his legs back around Tiago’s hips.

Tiago nipped at his lower lip, then sucked his mouth open, pressing his tongue inside with a wet, dirty slide that made Q shudder in his lap.

“Please.” Q breathed it against his lips, more like a prayer than a request, and Tiago reacted by turning them, laying Q flat on his back, and bearing his weight down into the apex of Q’s thighs.

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to worry about breaking him, but Q was strong, stronger than any one in his life had ever given him credit for. Tiago might be taking advantage, but he wouldn’t slight the man at the same time.

Q reached between them, pulling at Tiago’s night trousers and failing to lower them, but succeeding in pulling Tiago’s cock out through the fly.

At the first touch of skin against his own, Tiago stopped his rutting, stilling himself to wait and see what Q would do. Perhaps he would be scared off, turn timid and shy and make this stop before anything was too thoroughly ruined between them.

Instead, Q looked down between them, then back up at Tiago, meeting his eyes.

“Please… can I… I want to taste you. I want to know…” It was nearly gasped out, and he was flushed with need, with humiliation, unsure of what he was saying and doing and altogether unsure of what should be next.

Tiago knew he ought to be leading this, but that would mean advancing it. Besides, there was some small sadistic part of him that liked Q’s floundering, adored his discomfort. Treasured it. Because next time, it would be less. Next time he would know what he wanted, know what he craved, would be able to describe it, to ask for it.

“You may.” He rasped, treating it almost solemnly, just to add to the sense of discomfort. He sat up, then crawled up over Q, pulling his pants down as he went, until they sat just below his ass, around his thighs.

He offered the head of his cock at Q’s lips and looked down, past the planes of his chest and abs to take in the way the ruffled hair lay against his pelvis. Q tilted his head back to look up at him, and put his tongue out at the same time, stroking one velvety soft piece of flesh against another. Tiago inhaled sharply, and thrust downwards, opening Q’s mouth a bit with the surprise of it.

He kept his thrusts shallow at first, refusing to make him choke or to find the back of his mouth just yet. He had a feeling that would scare him, would signal the end of this, and if that was the case, he wanted to have come, or to have come as close to cumming, as humanly possible before then.

Q seemed to appreciate it, and slowed him further, grabbing at his hips and pulling him back to lick at him, kiss him… it was damn near worshipful and felt absolutely wicked to him. Q found the slit at the very tip and dipped his tongue into it, and Tiago had to fight the urge to thrust into his mouth fully.

Tiago pulled himself away and Q looked up, big eyes and abused, red, wet lips, and a concerned look on his face.

“Did I—was that wrong?”

“No, no, not at all.” He felt like he was gentling a colt, all eagerness but no surety. “But I don’t think it fair that you do all of the tasting, do you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead moving back down Q’s body to press a kiss to his navel. He shook his pants the rest of the way off and let them heap into an undignified pile on the floor before turning his attention back to Q. He took hold of his boxers and pulled them down, pressing a kiss on his hip, just next to the crease of his groin, which became a little nip before he pulled the boxers off completely, sending them to join his pants in the general direction of the floor.

While he was at it, the bed covers followed, in the interest of saving himself some laundry later. Maybe he wasn’t always moral, but he did have practicality.

That done, he moved back up Q’s legs, to where he was idly stroking himself.

“Have you missed this? Your hand… Could you do this when they had you, before the day I got you?” he brushed the pads of his fingers over Q’s fist, acutely aware of the blood pounding in his erection, and pulling a soft moan from Q.

“No, I… they kept me tied…” He had to work to get the words out. Tiago smirked.

“Maybe next time.” He offered, the words half sultry and half prodding, trying to scare him again.

Q just moaned, though it cut off suddenly, like he had only just realized that noise was coming from him.

“I like hearing you. And remember, it’s fine—no one will hear you.” Tiago reminded him, throwing just a hint of sadistic intent behind the words. Q’s responding moan was even louder for it, and he didn’t know what else he could do, so he bent and enveloped Q’s cock in his mouth, swallowing it with the ease of practice.

He wasn’t necessarily all about men. But there were some that he couldn’t help wanting, and he was always happy to give himself what he wanted.

Just now, he wanted to be inside of Q, pretty Q, sweating and writhing and trying not to do anything that might make Tiago change his mind. He swallowed around him, and Q arched his back.

“Fuck!” The word dropping from his mouth like it had been torn free. Tiago liked it.

He pulled off and moved upwards, kissing Q and sharing the flavor of himself with him, while he retrieved the lube from its seat on Q’s bedside table.

He poured some in his left hand, and rolled the fingers of his right in it, before going back to work with his mouth.

Q’s hands came down to loop in his hair, his fingers pressing and rubbing, legs moving about, first as if to get traction and then slipping loose, lest he use that traction to thrust in. He seemed afraid to do anything. So Tiago lifted those legs, positioned them, looked up the length of Q’s body to make eye contact, and then swallowed until Q bottomed out in his throat.

Q dropped his head back against the pillows and cursed softly to himself, but seemed to get the hint.

His thrusts were short, light, exploratory, and Tiago rewarded him for them by stroking at his balls, his perineum… and then he dropped his wet finger lower, to circle and press and flutter away and then to rub again at the knot of tense muscle.

Q jolted at the first breach, and Tiago swallowed again, squeezing down around Q’s cock while he slid his finger in deeper, forcing a keen to rise from the man under him.

Q shook, trembled… and began to pull at Tiago’s hair.

“I’m close… I’m so close, Tiago, please…” Tiago pulled his mouth away, breathing heavily. Q whined at the loss and reached for his dick, only for his hand to be batted aside. Tiago wrapped his fist around it and stroked, maddeningly slow.

“Tell me.” He commanded, and Q shook. He pressed a second finger beside the first inside of him, and repeated himself.

“Tell me.”

Q gasped in air.

“I… I need to come, please. I need. I’m so…” He tensed, as though going through some kind of contraction, and Tiago rubbed his fingers over Q’s prostate again. “Oh, oh God.” Q drew the word out until it was only barely recognizable, the elongated vowel punctured by his need to breathe.

Tiago pulled out all of the stops, then, and began concentrating on synching his fist and his fingers, pulling and prodding at Q until he felt him shake apart under his hands, heard the thin noise that came out of him, felt Q’s hands on his shoulders, his nails digging in. He lowered his mouth and caught Q’s cum in it, refusing to swallow. He held it there until Q had quite finished, then, with a devious smirk, rose up, silently commanding Q’s attention.

Q stared. “I… Did I..?” he started, but he gasped when Tiago interrupted him by letting his semen drip out of his mouth and between Q’s legs, sliding into his crack only to be caught on Tiago’s fingers and pushed into his hole.

“May I?” Tiago asked, not giving Q time to get over his orgasmic haze. He would be most relaxed now, he knew. Q nodded, mouthing words but unable to get the sounds to come.

Tiago sat back on his heels and pulled Q down the bed and up his lap simultaneously, then rose to his knees to position both Q’s legs and his cock.

With little more than that, he began pressing in.

It hurt. He could see that it did, the tears springing to Q’s eyes more than testament enough. He bit down on his lip and pushed his arms up and back, over his head, his hands fisting into the pillow. Sounds of distress emerged from him despite his best intentions, and Tiago froze when the head was inside, stilling to let Q adjust.

He found the lube again, and popped the lid open, applying it cold and straight out of the bottle to where they were joined.

“Good boy. My sweet Q.” He cooed, rubbing the tight skin, trying to relax it a bit, before moving his hand to Q’s heaving stomach, small as it was.

“I… please.” Q asked, not expanding on it, as though Tiago ought to know what he wanted. Perhaps better than he did.

“Please more or please stop, Q? You have to tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“Please I need… more. Please move. Please.” The words were hurried, forced out. Tiago nodded.

“As you like.” He began sliding in again, bearing down with a continuous light pressure, getting maybe another inch or two in before stopping and pulling back a bit.

Q panicked.

“No!” he curled up, grabbing for Tiago to stop him pulling out, and Tiago smirked, responding by pressing in with one great thrust, nearly making it all the way.

Q grunted his approval, the sound lost as Tiago pulled back again and slid forward once more, causing their skin to slap together.

Q fell back onto the bed once more, arching his spine to bring himself closer to Tiago, to post back against him.

“Please, please…” It was a litany, a prayer, a plea… Q was desperate now, and Tiago thought he knew how he felt.

He shifted his weight forward, coming to rest over the smaller man, and began showing Q exactly how good this could be, how well he could react to being stretched and filled, to long strokes and circled hips, to short fast strokes, and to being filled completely and tensed inside of.

He could feel Q’s cock valiantly struggling to rise for a second go, and he began slamming in, all but pounding the boy into the sheets. Q let out a moan on every down thrust, nearly musical in his pleasure.

“Q…” Tiago said, trying to warn him that it was coming, that he was coming, that he intended to do so all over Q’s insides.

“Jeffrey.” Q corrected, distracted and clinging to Tiago with all he had.

“Jeffrey?” Tiago asked, concentration broken and his rhythm stuttering.

“My name. It’s… it’s Jeffrey.” Q sounded shy, like he wanted—needed Tiago to approve. Tiago smiled.

“Jeffrey then.” And he pressed home and spilled within Q.

Q moved to meet thrusts that were no longer coming, and Tiago soothed him with his hands, stilling him beneath him until he was done, until he had already begun to soften. Then he slid out.

“Happy Christmas, Jeffrey.” He said, rolling to fall beside him.

“I love you, Tiago.” Jeffrey responded, curling to touch him.

“Yes.” Tiago agreed, trying to think where that would leave them tomorrow. But he gave up. He was warm, and comfortable, and the mood didn’t need broken by such trivialities as the future. Not right now.

He pulled Q close to him, and let himself drowse off.

His very last thought was, ‘ _at least he won’t try and escape now.’_

That was good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you want updates on future stories, or just to hang out and say hi, feel free to drop by my blog at MostFacinorous.tumblr.com!


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